


Crash and Burn

by qaolu



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: And they were ~roommates~, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, I think this is enough tags for you to get my point lmao, Insecurity, It's cute and fluffy - until it's not, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qaolu/pseuds/qaolu
Summary: Buck has been speeding past his limit since quarantine, after he let Hen, Chim and Eddie stay in his loft apartment.Now, he's about to slam down hard on the brakes, and there's only himself left to blame.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Diaz Family, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Firehouse 118 Crew, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Maddie Buckley/Howie "Chimney" Han
Comments: 14
Kudos: 258
Collections: 9-1-1 Tales





	1. Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my anon + justsmilestuffhappens on tumblr for the ideas. This is two things at once; simultaneously, it's Buddie endgame fic and also a deep dive into Buck's thoughts. It'll be completed sometime after Buck Begins airs.

It starts normally, of course, as normal as it can be when you live with your three coworkers because of a global pandemic. Sleeping arrangements need to be changed, schedules reworked and lives fused together at the turn of a doorknob into Buck’s shared loft.

Chim sleeps on an air mattress in the living room, Hen by his side on the couch, but the man paying rent didn’t exactly have space for Eddie. When Eddie came to him, realizing that _yes_ , this was really happening and that he would have to leave Christopher with abuela for his safety, he couldn't say no.

Eddie's mouth drops open when he realizes, _yes_ , that technically the other spots are filled. Buck offers to buy him a sleeping bag, the ones children typically use for camping trips, but Eddie rejects that with a wave.

"I'll be fine," he bluffs, thinking about Christopher. When they lie in bed that night, inextricably close because the international clusterfuck of medical drama and human error painfully exists, Buck can't make himself small enough. He's on the left side, clinging to the edge for dear life, and Eddie is clearly awake on the other. Chim teased them over the sharing bed trope, giving suggestive winks and curled lips, but even if Buck wanted that...? The space simply had too many bodies, and Eddie (Buck included) had too many thoughts. Hen, missing Denny and Nia, made them respective cups of chamomile tea before they set off to the land of dreams. Eddie, choking on the herbal scent, probably didn't drink enough to properly smooth his mind.

Buck could tell he was about to say something, whispering through the dark.

"I wish we could watch something mindless on TV right now."

He could agree to that. With the occupants filling his apartment, late-night channel flipping was a figment of the past, just like eating in restaurants or smiling at people in stores.

"It'll still be there tomorrow if you don't punch a hole through it trying to order groceries for the week," Buck prodded, gentle ribbing evoking a small smile.

Eddie chuckles, tucked away into his pillow.

"You are making the guy who can't cook at all find some weird mushrooms and highly specific spices," he returned.

"One man's saffron is another man's cinnamon," Buck jokes, his phone screen dimming.

"Can you two keep the sleepover business to when it's just the both of you awake?" Hen forcefully whispers from downstairs. "If you wanted to talk, Buck, you should've bought a place with, you know, _walls_."

"Shh," Chim audibly raises his voice. "We have to be nice, or he'll send us to Josh's."

“Don’t tempt me,” Buck calls down. “I’ll just flush the toilet while you’re in the shower.”

“Now _that_ is a threat,” Hen certifies, and they try to rest despite the weight of the world.

“What do you want to watch?” he nudges Eddie on their day off. Hen was in the bath as Chim made himself busy in the kitchen preparing lunch.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, still wondering what Christopher was doing, if he was confused, if he missed him. Buck could tell from the furrowed knit of his brows that possibilities were racing, deep-reaching insecurities about having to choose work over his child.

 _Need something to occupy his mind_ , Buck thinks. He settles on a cooking show.

“Maybe we can work on sharpening your skills while we’re all here together,” Buck teased, putting his feet on the coffee table. It’s his house, after all. “Beyond burnt toast and cereal.”

“Why, so you can make your infamous pancakes with more help than me just handing you the frying pan?” Eddie laughs at that, albeit a bit sadly. Early mornings at the Diaz hospital usually meant stacks of flapjacks for an excited Christopher, drenched in too much syrup for the average adult’s consumption. Buck would make a million of the glutinous, sickeningly sweet breakfast options if it kept the kid happy for life. He missed him too; it’d only been a few days, but Eddie looked like he hadn’t slept in months, knotted up anxieties sporting lines in his forehead from worry.

Buck was invested in the competition show, the way the chefs cut down to the clock with sweat-slicked skin and last-minute trips to the oven, but Eddie was starting to lose focus.

“Eds,” he snapped, bringing his best friend back. “Let’s watch something else, then.”

“We can watch a game show or a Netflix series,” Chim rounds the corner, a sandwich in his hand. “You know, kick back like old people or young college students trying to avoid their finals.”

“Give me the remote,” Eddie demands, softly, as Chim sits in between them. Buck hands it over, watching him carefully, wondering if maybe a turkey club would spur the other to think of making lunches for Christopher, taking Christopher to the park, sitting doing puzzles with Chris—fuck.

He missed him, too. Really badly. Eddie flipped through the channels, ignoring Chim’s suggestions in his pursuit of something more interesting. Chim shrugs, taking a bite out of his meal. Buck can’t even remember when they had bought sourdough, but _damn_ did it look good.

“You like the bread?” Hen walked out from the bathroom, head wrapped loosely in a towel. “Apparently, everyone is making that stuff. Figured you wouldn’t mind, Buck.”

“Since when did I have yeast?” Buck asked, still monitoring Eddie.

“If you have a yeast infection, Buck, you should see the gyno,” Chim mused, happy with himself. “Wait, did you put on a _murder_ show?”

“The genre is called true crime,” Buck rolled his eyes playfully, “Turn that up. I’ve never seen this episode before.”

“Woah,” Hen leaned over on the couch, intrigued. “You watch this kind of stuff?”

“When Chim was on medical leave, he watched Marie Kondo. I, on the other hand, _kind_ of got into documentaries, shows and podcasts,” Buck shrugged.

“To each their own,” Hen smiled, getting up to return back to the kitchen for her own culinary plans.

“I think we’re going to handle this living together situation _just_ fine,” Chim tossed a chip in his mouth. “Unless, you know...”

“We strangle each other and end up on whatever the hell this is?” Eddie cocked his head, a trace of a smile playing on his lips. Buck liked it more when he felt happy, even if the expression was forged in fire. He wondered if Eddie hid his emotions like Buck compartmentalized sometimes, just burying them deep to resurface in a punching bag or therapy session. Eddie was probably an expert in that from years being strong for Christopher.

“Pfft. Everyone knows the victim died of a gunshot wound,” Buck kicked Eddie’s leg, later realizing it was a juvenile move. “Read the subtitles, dude.”

“Probably the husband,” Eddie’s face didn’t change. “He was having an affair.”

“Isn’t it always the husband?” Buck wiggled his brows, enjoying their conversation.

“I’m going to go call your sister and my girlfriend upstairs, if you don’t mind,” Chim tapped his shoulder. “Can I have the honor of using your bedroom? You two gross me out.”

“Ew,” Buck grimaced, not wanting to know why he needed privacy.

“Shut up, not for that. Today, at least,” Chim got up, grabbing his laptop from the nearby counter. The program on the television was one well-versed in forensics, taking the audience through different experts, crime scene technicians and law enforcement. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes, Buck would see Athena on the screen, talking about busting some serial killer’s ass or handcuffing the perpetrator.

“This calms you down?” Eddie asked pointedly.

“What?” Buck leaned on the arm of the couch.

“Like, you watched this because you were bored...or what?” he continued.

“I just think it’s interesting. The theories, the victim’s story, the motives,” Buck explained. “Sometimes, it really sucks you in. I watched this special once that had me thinking in the shower for a week, like, the list of potential culprits was just so long, a real who-dunnit.”

“Thinking in the shower?” Eddie laughed, this one genuine. “You’re not making a good case for yourself, here.”

“Well, watch with me, asshole, and you’ll understand,” Buck makes the volume louder. “Then, afterwards, we’ll call Chris, alright?”

A flash of sometime sparkles in Eddie’s eyes. “Okay,” he nods.

Quarantine is weird. Chim tries this strange thing called dalgona coffee, which makes everyone a little dizzy from the sugar. They alternate between using the bedroom for calls, whether it’s someone’s specific family members, loved ones or in Buck’s case, a therapist. Surrounded by his closest friends, he should feel _good_ , great even. But he doesn’t. He puts on a face to be strong for them, because no one would be there if it wasn’t for the world burning down. Everyone has their respective lives, even his sister, the group moving on with respective offspring and romantic partners. While Eddie’s mood brightens the more things start to seem better, it all gets dashed to hell and back again when the cases for Los Angeles skyrocket. Again.

Buck feels incomplete, and that feeling doesn’t go away when he talks on FaceTime with Doctor Copeland. She helps, but Chim jokes about a “Covid crush” with no base in reality. Sure, Buck has a Covid crush, he realizes through long hours spent thinking and reflecting.

It might be the man sleeping next to him in bed at night, all strong muscles and resolve.

“Let’s drink tonight,” Chim proposes, launching his emotional support tequila in the air. Buck wants to be sober, in charge of his emotions because otherwise _bad_ _things_ might happen. One time, he almost drunk-texted Eddie that he was in love with him, while Eddie sat literally, right next to him. Thankfully, Hen had pulled him away in time. All that Buck could actually articulate in his alcoholic haze was “Mhm, lo-ve. Loveeeee!” in a sing-song voice that Chim knew Maddie would end up seeing eventually. As loving blackmail, the video sits on his phone; Maddie has to convince him not to make it his ringtone.

“I’ll pass,” he decides.

But Eddie doesn’t, because, well, _fuck_ their sense of normalcy. He handles himself well, typically holding the liquor with practice and poise, although the scent lingers on his breath with an entrancing, bitter allure. Except, apparently, when Hen makes some concoction with ginger beer and lime, because Buck and Eddie are beer guys, right? The least they could do is branch out every now and then like a college frat party filled with keg stands and intoxicated teenagers?

“You’ve had too much,” Hen cuts Eddie off eventually, setting her role as mixologist to the side. “Soon, you’re going to be talking like Buck does.”

“Not true,” Eddie darkens, “I’m not a lightweight.”

“What was in there?” Buck ignores the slight jest from Hen. When his friends do it, he doesn’t mind. Now, if his parents were here? That’d be a whole different story, one fucked up from birth.

“Vodka,” Hen is stretched out on the floor, cracking her arms above her head. “Now, Diaz, I’m going to have to ask you to get off my bed.”

“For real?” Eddie sighs playfully, “Wait, why did we drink tonight, anyways?”

Hen bites her lip.

“I’m going home tomorrow,” she admits, surprising the other two. Chim already knew.

“Oh,” Buck doesn’t falter, knows how hard this must have been. It’s for the best. Since Karen decided to be a stay-at-home rocket scientist and kept the children in online school, their chances of exposure were slim. If Hen followed precautions, only wore civvies in the house and shed her old clothes like a snake emerging from older, firehouse-worn skin, she could see her favorite people again. Eddie lit up, because well, if Hen did it, he might be able to, too. “I’m so happy for you,” Buck gets up to hug her, wondering how he didn’t know since she’d been living in his space for the past few months.

“Me too,” Eddie’s head was clearly turning over new ideas in his head.

“To seeing my lovely wife and adorable kids,” Hen toasted, sliding a bottle of water over to Eddie.

“Cheers!” Chim fists pumps in the air.

Eddie is drunk. Buck knows this, because they all have to help him up the stairs, body slumping from overconsumption. He wonders if now, because Hen is going home, whether Eddie will still stay in his bed or take the couch. 

“I miss Christopher,” Eddie slurs, rolling over. “You look pretty, Evan.”

“What?” Buck flushes, thankful that the lights are completely out. The two thoughts were seemingly unrelated, a drunk man’s single stream of consciousness, but he’ll take the compliment, he guesses.

“You heard me,” Eddie bumps his knee, and it’s the closest they’ve been on the bed. Sometimes, Buck would wake up dangerously close, but the panic in his breath woke him up enough to get some leverage on the mattress, away from his dazzlingly beautiful best friend. He’s had these feelings for a while, sure, but didn’t think it’d progress in such a difficult fashion that the other woke up next to him on the same king-sized mattress, you know, in a totally platonic way. Buck was itching for a shared touch, a kindling of fire between their masculine forms, the likes of which caused him to slump down on the floor in the middle of the night to escape such nagging, persistent realizations.

He’d blamed his morning position on being a restless sleeper rather than choosing to flop onto the hardwood like a desperate rescue mission. If he woke up, arms craving for warmth and found Eddie to hold close instead of the pillow, he worried the older man would be shamed into living in a hotel for the duration of the pandemic. If Buck had a wet dream or something, it would _also_ be too embarrassing. Forget working at the same fire station, he’d have to move to Antarctica with the penguins for comfort. The imaginary conversation with Bobby haunted his rash thinking like a gavel swinging down to sentence him to court, doomed to a life sentence of broken relationships and empty beds.

‘Oh, Buck, your best friend hates you now because you hugged him in your sleep like he was the most precious thing in the world to you, or maybe it’s because your dick got hard from a slick, sleep-induced fantasy. Disgusting.’ Awkward moments were expected when residing in the apartment as three grown-ass men and the solitary, boisterous female energy of Hen, but that far exceeded flashes of bodies in the shower as they cycled through shifts or having to do separate laundry, only to find another person’s underwear in your hamper.

“You’re wasted,” Buck is shocked to hear himself say those words to Eddie, because well, it’s Eddie. Edmundo Diaz doesn’t really do the sappy, clingy drunk schtick. At least, that’s what Buck thought. Something must have been weighing on him to go a little heavy on the cocktails, slinging them back with a mint leaf on each beverage. “You’re not making sense.”

“Nothing makes sense, anymore,” Eddie flops over on his side. “I can’t be with my kid, I can’t be with you even though we sleep in the same bed, and I can’t watch television alone.”

Buck’s face feels hot.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Buck is honestly confused, because well, why did he sneak that into the middle of the sentence like it was something casual and not a horrible confession which would turn the tide of their relationship. “Besides, I thought you liked the true crime shows. We talked about the Cecil Hotel for an entire hour. You even said you’d try scripted stuff like Criminal Minds or Law and Order.”

“I like them,” Eddie’s breath was hot and tinged with bits of fire. “But I like you too, Evan. Case...” he reached forward, landing a soft _boop_ on Buck’s nose. “Closed.”

“Go to sleep,” Buck steeled himself, knowing that this was drunk infatuation talking, not Eddie, crashing and burning with every mouth set alight by liquor’s poison.

“Okay,” he blinked, slightly visible in the pitch black night. Buck can’t bring himself to make an excuse for sleeping on the floor...he just wants, _needs_ a cushion to his back. Their day was long, too fucking long. He wants Eddie, as much as he thinks he doesn’t _dare_ deserve him.

When they wake up, Eddie is spooning him, slightly drooling.

Buck thinks he might die.

Scrambling out of his friend’s grasp, he reaches for the railing, steadying himself. _What the hell was that last night?_ He gingerly goes down the stairs, where Hen is packing up her belongings.

“Morning, sunshine,” she shoves a shirt into her bag, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Oh no, did Eddie vomit on the bed or something?”

“Like a dog?” Chim bites into his toast, hot cup of coffee in hand as he meanders over. Buck didn’t even see him there, always munching on something.

“I’m fine,” he dismisses. “Coffee, _please_.” Before his brain shuts down.

“Coming up, Buckaroo,” Chim shoots him a finger gun, wandering over to the machine.

“Look,” Hen rubs his arm, “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. But,” she always has a way of seeing Buck that makes him feel warm. “Eddie will probably be the next one out of here. When you went to do the dishes with Chimney last night, he started chatting me up about how this means he might be able to go see Christopher. You know, things are opening up. People are still stupid, but he misses him. Just, prepare yourself.”

“Prepare myself for what?” Buck rubs his head.

“Being alone with _Chimney_ ,” she scoffs, “That man is _terrified_ of hurting Maddie and the baby.”

 _He’s not who I’m afraid to be alone with_ , Buck thinks. _Not after last night_.  
“Everyone will be back to their places soon,” he sighs. “Maybe it’ll be a new normal.”

There’s never anything normal about their lives, ever.

Eddie doesn’t remember the night before, but he does call Christopher in excitement. The boy’s appearance is visibly older from a few month’s time, curls still adorable yet fitting a more mature, grown charm. He’s all smiles, so Eddie is beaming like an exploding star, fragments of the sun littered all over Buck’s apartment which is growing emptier by the moment.

“I’m going to go next,” he tells Buck over their latest obsession, a show where convicted killers speak to the camera about their crimes. “You could...come with me, you know.”

“This is my apartment,” Buck reasons, even though he barely lived there before all of this. “But what about Chimney? I’m not giving him the full run of the place. He’ll redecorate everything.”

“It’s mostly all from Ali, so I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Eddie cracks his knuckles, and the name is one Buck has been trying to forget in the saga of dreadful ‘A’ names. “You should see him when our test results come back, Buck. You join practically every call I have with him, and he always asks about you. The amount of cards he’s made the both of us are filling up your mailbox. Surely, you want a few of those to be exchanged in person,” he raises a brow.

“Am I...am I safe?” Buck blanks out, the television screen barely holding his interest.

“As safe as Chim or me,” Eddie pauses the show. “Buck, what is this about?”

“Nothing,” Buck lies. “Well, one thing.”

“What?”

“Do you think that they’ll actually execute this guy?” he motions to the screen, where the caption says ‘death row’ in big, red letters.

“I—ugh,” Eddie returns his attention to the streaming service. “Probably not. They shouldn’t, anyways. Life in prison is better than having the possibility of killing an innocent person.”

“Right?” Buck is proud of his misdirection.

“You’re coming with me,” Eddie doesn’t fall for it, though. “To pick up Chris.”

“Okay,” Buck nods.

Chim is getting sick of Buck and Eddie, that much is sure. Eddie hasn’t picked a date, still going back and forth with Christopher, who wants him to come home _immediately_.

“Let me get a test result back first,” he told him on the phone. “Then, it’s you and me, buddy.”

“What about Buck?” Christopher asks loud enough that Buck, in the kitchen, breaks into a goofy smile.

“I’m hoping,” Eddie eyes him, “We still have a few more tricks to pull on Chim before I renounce my title as the king of pranks, though.”

“I love pranks!” Christopher cheers. Buck tucks that in his back pocket for later reference. _Poor Chim_ , Buck thinks for a second, before deciding that the other man is just too much fun. Hen’s specialty was rounding the corner on light feet, only to jump out and spook him. Chimney once flung popcorn so far in the air that they swore it hit the high ceilings, his instant reflex to launch his snack into outer space.

He played dirty, despite what he claimed. One time, Chim stood outside the shower, dumping shampoo and conditioner on Buck as the younger batted away layers of product, wondering why he was still so sudsy after minutes in bubbling hell. Without Eddie, Buck would have no fellow ally in the onslaught against his future brother-in-law.

When Chimney walks in on them watching Dateline, _again_ , he decides that enough is enough.

“Look, this isn’t like the drinking celebration for Hen,” he clasped his hands together. “I think I know what you two need, and it isn’t another day of playing Animal Crossing.”

“What do you have in mind?” Buck pauses, remembering drunk Eddie and compromising positions with no business in their otherwise undisturbed friendship.

“Now, I can’t take total credit for this. Maddie and Albert helped me order this interactive murder mystery game from Amazon the other day, and—”

“Jackpot!” Buck leaps from the couch, seizing it from the other. “Don’t worry, Mr. Han. Detective Buckley and Diaz are on the case.”

Chim, expecting a song and dance but amused nonetheless, puts his hands on his hips.

“Alright, then solve it, boys,” he acknowledges how Eddie somehow looks as enthralled as Buck does, satisfied with the purchase.

“Not a word of this goes to Athena,” Eddie points. “Now, Buck. Let’s begin.” They practically tear open the packaging like it’s Christmas, but Buck can’t spoil the secret to this occasion. Instructions, queue cards and other features tumble out from the container.

“Is it like Clue?” Eddie asked, expecting a board to be included. He tips the box on his side, confused.

“No, Diaz,” Buck is fully into the act, already puffing from an imaginary pipe. “This is a game of skill rather than turn-based predictability. We have to interact with different people, find clues, and eventually solve the murder. You know, like real life.”

“This says to play it with large parties,” Chim scratches his chin, “Shit. That’s kind of a thing of the past.”

“We’ll make do,” Buck says, and he suddenly has a British accent that sounds _too_ perfect. “Chim, you can play every other character, right?”

“Woah, woah. I didn’t sign up for all of that,” he’s waving no, but Eddie refuses to take on the roles, while Buck is having entirely too much fun as one annoying, English detective.

“Come on Chim,” Buck pats him on the shoulder. “Be a good sport, eh?”

Eddie has a shit-eating grin on his face. Chim misses Hen.

“Fine,” he reads through the characters, “I hope you’re ready for some elaborate voices.”

It takes them two hours, the game progressing at a maddening pace, but they inch towards a finish. Buck finds a fake magnifying glass to analyze Chim’s catalogue of suspects.

“Detective Diaz,” he puts the kitchen light on as if interrogating Chim. “Would you back up my brilliant sleuthing work that tells us Beatrice, the maid here, is our culprit? She had the motive and no alibi.”

“She could be the Beast of Britain,” Eddie yawned, his exhaustion setting in. They all had work the previous day, where the three men were obviously very happy to see people besides their roommates, such as Bobby and Hen from separate households. Being in each other’s constant business did have its perks; it was undeniably really, really fun, just not when privacy died for the sake of public health. One time, Buck walked in on Chim “Zooming” Maddie...or so he said. In Buck’s eyes, Chim was shirtless, and his very pregnant sister—gag, was blushing red in a lacy top. He, quite frankly, wanted to die.

“Now, all we need to do is deduce that her hand dealt the fatal blow with the candlestick,” Buck said, never breaking character. Chim looked down at his card.

“Oh,” and Chim’s voice never wavered, “I would never kill him.”

“There were feathers from a duster on the body,” Eddie rubbed his eyes.

“Case closed,” Buck clapped, “You have the right to remain silent—”

“Let’s say that Miranda rights don’t exist in this fictional world. I’m tired,” Chim laid down the law, weary.

“You know, me too,” Eddie joined him.

“Okay,” Buck was thinking about the words _case closed_ , the words _I like you too, case closed_ stinging and raw. As he slipped on a more comfortable pair of sweats, Eddie on his phone next to the bed, he wondered if the other truly didn’t remember anything. Surely, there were more pressing matters in the world than if his best friend reciprocated his feelings; he’d stuff those emotions under the pillow, slipping them into expensive silk sheets for safekeeping.

“You’re staring,” Eddie fought back another yawn. “Is it because I forgot to set our alarm the other day? Thought I already apologized for that.”

“No,” Buck’s mouth formed a straight line, and he fought the urge to be louder that was gnawing incessantly at him from within. Something burns in his chest with the words _our_ alarm, even though he knows it’s because they had the same shift. He loved Eddie being there, the same with Chim, but the latter was his family, an older brother in many ways. Falling into a weird sort of rhythm with Eddie felt almost...romantic? But Buck would never admit that to himself. The rhythm was irregular because it was one without Christopher, and he was just hoping that soon their beats would realign back to what was comfortable. Buck didn’t want to share the bed with Eddie knowing that Christopher might be sleeping alone, or that the feeling of Eddie against his back, heart fluttering in his chest, makes him weak in the knees. They were a good team, and he couldn’t mess with that, especially when they worked together in close quarters, harnessed by each other’s hands. Plus, during quarantine, it was time to work on himself, not any extra attachments to distract him from the feelings of inadequacy. He felt like a gaping hole, a missing puzzle piece, and no one else could make that absence whole again. It was a journey he’d been taking on alone, forged in the recesses of his mind and by the ticking of the clock.

“Then, what is it?” Eddie pulled off his shirt, and although Buck had seen the sight a thousand times, he tore his eyes away like a hand on a hot stove. He didn’t need this right now. He needed a friend, not whatever made his pulse accelerate. “Hey. You’ve snapped me out of my funk more time than I can count. Just let me do that for you, man. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can go with you back to Christopher,” Buck said, disguising what was nagging at him with a twisted version of the truth. “I think Chim needs me. He’s so worried about Maddie, I feel like if I leave him alone...I don’t know. He might explode.”

“Huh,” Eddie lowers his voice, dragging the blanket over his lower half. Instinctively, Buck scoots closer, meeting the other at the center of the bed. “That bad?”

“He’s terrified of hurting Maddie and the baby,” Buck whispers. “I think my sister might start liking Albert more than him if he keeps this distance up. I gotta talk to him.” It wasn’t a complete lie. With each day, Chim grew more anxious over the dangers of her pregnancy, making excuses for why he could not be with her for the series of parental ups and downs. If Buck could get Chim alone, with Eddie gone, maybe they’d work out a deal and he could score Albert in return. The thought of an empty apartment made his skin crawl, truthfully.

“Okay,” Eddie smoothed his hair back. “I thought you didn’t like my detective work or something. Was gonna have to report you to internal affairs.”

Buck snorted. “You wish. I think you should quit your day job and solve crime professionally, my good sir.”

“No, because then I’d have the whole 118 banging down my door talking about how you miss me, you’re _inconsolable_ without me,” he had a mischievous expression. Buck wanted to kiss it, but damn, he didn’t deserve a joyous gesture like that. Everyone else’s happy endings fit perfectly into place without him.

“Sure,” Buck flipped over, unable to face his friend.

“...Do you want to come a little closer?” Eddie’s tone slithers out, a mere ghost of a question. Buck is frozen solid, terrified of this being a ploy where he'll leave him like others have, curled into a secret, hiding from himself in mirrors.

“Aren’t you hot?” Buck is Buck, he’s slack-jawed but not blushing, but _thank whatever exists_ that the lights are out, again.

“Yeah, but you’re going to fall off the bed at that rate,” Eddie doesn’t reach forward.

“I thought you were going to sleep on the couch,” Buck bites his lip, drawing blood.

“Jesus, Buck. Do you want me to?” he rolls over the other direction.

“No,” Buck says the truth this time, because he can’t mask his emotions when the dead of night calls, he’s too tired to care how it makes him seem.

“Good,” Eddie and him are a few feet apart, but it feels like an ocean.

When Buck wakes up to use the bathroom, he finds himself nestled into Eddie’s neck, clutching the pillow to make distance.

The Chim and Buck show persists for a while, even as Buck leaves to visit Eddie at his house, watch Christopher and play video games with the kid he’s missed so much. He works up the nerve to stand outside his house with hugs in his arsenal, squeezing the boy tight in negative-test-result-induced glee. His sign of “all-clear” came back the day after Eddie’s, so he spoils Christopher to pieces, playing good cop and bad cop unintentionally. There’s still parts of him missing, Buck thinks, but Eddie and Christopher are good at making him forget that he lacks poise, a temper flaring or sparking conflict like a match to a candle scented of rash decisions. After Chim has a weird Zoom call with Maddie, Albert tending to her every whim like a puppy-dog butler who occasionally spoils her with coffee, Buck is trying to get him to _move, they have work_.

“I think she’s mad at me,” Chim sighs, standing still.

“I’ll be the Buckley mad at you if you don’t start getting ready,” he flicks Chim’s shoulder like a schoolyard bully adamant on stealing lunch money.

“Hey, I’m being serious,” he leans on his hand, “Is it because I’m not with her physically right now? She should know why I’m keeping my distance.”

“...Yeah,” Buck says like it’s obvious, having told his sister that Eddie and Hen went back to their children months ago, the quarantine family broken into a troublesome duo (Buck has the looks, Chim has the brains). The word distance reverberates in his cranium slowly, agonizingly.

“Would you be lonely if I went back to her? Like, in theory?” he asked, knowing it would take an emergency event to change his mind (maybe a group of pregnant women held captive to make him realize that victories should be shared, not separated through a screen).

Buck tries to ignore that he wants to scream a little bit. Of course he’d be lonely, he’s been lonely all his whole life, a sad excuse of a boy who acted out to get attention from the empty husks of parents who never bothered to care. He walked through fire figuratively and literally, _alone_. It wasn’t Maddie’s fault, just like it wasn’t Eddie’s or Chimney’s problem to deal with when they lived under one roof. This, in its fullest, was a completely independent experience of self-love and discovery. He hadn’t gotten to the love yet, unless you could count the coping mechanisms or hours of reflection. Doctor Copeland helped him get to the root of his problems, but he refused to sever the vein, afraid of the bloody aftermath.

“You already said you’d give me Albert, so no,” he shrugged it off.

“Huh,” Chim poked him. “Guess your Covid crush _is_ helping.”

“Something like that,” Buck grabbed his water bottle and keys to leave.

The next few weeks are a blur of events, beginning with the bus lodged in the building and _oh, remember the tsunami?_ _Here’s your trauma resurfacing, and you’ll feel like you can’t breathe._ Buck’s explaining Scrabble to Christopher, who’s absolutely peeved that his father is terrified by technology, but it makes Buck laugh from top to bottom, legs kicking. They revert back towards their detective roles, launching sporadically into knowledge at the totally _real_ crime scene with a dead woman in the pool. Athena’s chastising him, and that stupid gnome is staring, he’s sure, but then the unexpected news hits hard.

Buck’s parents are coming to visit. Of fucking _course_ they are. Why would he be struggling to stay afloat in a world so dependent on sinking him down, trapped underneath the firetruck or fighting waves in natural disasters, when he could just _break_ so easily? It’s what his parents would want, seeing him beaten down to a fragmented pulp, biting like a rabid dog for attention. He knows it’s not because Maddie is pregnant, that there’s a secret she’s not telling him, but _fuck_ , he’s felt like that his whole life, like everyone else was in on the truth while he walked around, hopelessly deceived for an unknown purpose. It was no wonder lying came so easy to him. He could be vulnerable, truthful with his friends, but Buck also concealed his inner monologue to keep up the facade that he’s fine, he’s okay! There’s nothing wrong. Scratch that, everything’s wrong, he’s suffocating.

His father hates the name Buck, actually, despises nicknames in general. He still uses it once or twice at the dinner table, enraging the sleeping bear. His mother is five feet and four inches of backhanded compliments and crocodile tears. He wants them to love him, like they used to love his sister, a long time ago. Now, Maddie is a victim just like him, trapped in “they’re not bad people, just bad parents” rather than “they neglected us and never looked back.” The words are vile, a spinning tornado of reemerging pain and otherworldly hurt that come in the form of pointed glances, dusty boxes or, in Buck’s case, complete disregard. Albert, his lifeline in the form of youthful glee, isn’t at the second occasion where he could use a friendly face. He said to Maddie “united front,” but hers is cracked and broken. Buck can’t blame her, but it hurts.

“We were kids,” Maddie croaks out mournfully, weeping at the childhood they never had. It’s the tipping point for Buck, the reason he gets so worked up that he could punch a wall, make holes in the faces of the people who shunned his amazing sister, but he’ll never stoop to their level. They can say whatever they want to him; it’s her he prioritizes, the one he always will fight for no matter what. United front.

“Love me anyway,” Buck cracks, tearing himself in two for their perverted pleasure. Chim is there, a million years in the future, mentally prepared to clean up the shrapnel from this warzone.

He drives around for hours, never texting the people he wants to hear from the most. Bobby’s own family now had their unique set of problems, and Buck had to realize that the man wasn’t his actual father. There is no found family or bigger picture.

It’s a miracle he doesn’t crash the car.

The punching bag is ugly, it’s a symbol of his anger, the gym equipment snaps back and—Eddie stops the hit from landing as hard as it would without his intervention. Buck is thankful that at least Eddie cares, but he can’t bring himself to care about the implications, not when the scathing wounds of adolescence fail to properly heal no matter the years, no matter the therapy or adrenaline rush from invoking violence on a poor, unsuspecting punching bag.

Buck doesn’t expect to find the picture in Maddie’s baby box when he visits later.

His world cuts to black, and the credits roll.


	2. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buck needs his family, and well, they need him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this is worth the wait! The finished piece could technically be standalone, but it does explicitly reference the first chapter. Are we all still mutually screaming over Buck Begins? I know I am. Title is from Crash and Burn by Maggie Lindemann.

He’s used to cuts and bruises, bleeding and drowning, emotions or water coursing over him as he fights the waves desperately. But Buck is _burning_ , aching, his fingertips tingling with the realization that his birth was not a joyous surprise or happy accident, but something that reaffirmed his greatest fears. Buck is alone, even when his friends crack jokes in the morning, it stings because he’s on fire, his whole body is rigid with a persistent heat that’s been around since the news broke. The form he frequents was not ever intended to be his own, gifted to another he barely knew then and definitely does not know enough about now. He could not give up the parts needed to make his older brother whole, and now he’s a ghost in the shape of Evan Buckley, wandering between lifetimes to make menial connections.

Maybe he shouldn’t have left Maddie’s house in anger, the door slamming shut as the haunted house of their childhood moved clearer into focus. He ignores her calls, flicking away the possibilities and excuses like an annoying pest in the summer heat. But it’s closer to the end of the year, he feels meek and small, tall stature characteristically downsized from broken, metaphorical bones (with a couple real ones, let’s be honest). Breaking himself into pieces was always the only way to be visible, to get a disparaging remark or a semblance of worry. He’d self-immolate in the form of motorcycle crashes and bruises from “accidents” planned in advance, wondering how fast it would be before he disappeared again.

“Like My Sister’s Keeper?” Eddie asks, and it’s a pop culture reference that _unfortunately_ , Buck gets. Bobby’s face is concerned, caught up in the drawl of Buck’s words when he admitted the truth Chimney had kept secret, successfully, somehow. It makes sense, he knows, fills in all the cracks missing from a backstory hidden among Los Angeles sex addiction and impulsive mannerisms. Buck makes sure that he tells them the news in a way that’s 90% a joke, because otherwise, his voice would break, embarrassing himself before the day even started. He refused to have a heartfelt one-on-one with any of them, just preferred to let the words fall from his lips in classic Buck fashion.

“Yeah,” he smiles, faked like he’s practiced. But everyone’s brows are raised, waiting for the ball to drop. When it doesn’t get there, at the precarious edge of a dangerous conversation, Eddie thankfully defuses the atmosphere further.

“This explains so much about you,” Eddie says, and instead of an inflection which means _this is why you’re fucked up_ , the tone is heartfelt, teasing in minimal doses as if laughter could be bottled for medicine. They try to tell him that it’s not his fault, he exists and is allowed to be fully upset, but the mood has to sour as Chimney enters the lounge area. Buck isn’t ready to forgive him or his sister, Maddie’s contact information probably pinging on the phone like she could pop the little bubble Buck made for himself if she tried hard enough.

He was born for parts, granted, ones that didn’t even _work_.

Of course he goes into the burning building with an emotional weight to his shoulders. What else could be expected from the person Buck has fashioned himself to be? From tattered clothes and misshaped pieces, he stitched together a person from Georgia to Peru and back again, escaping from fractured postcards to the sister he always feared for. It’s not like when Eddie is trapped underground or Chim gets rebar through his head, because _damn_ , is it the mental toll that makes the fire so much hotter? He’s dragging Saleh to safety he doesn’t quite know exists, hoping to free the man pinned around the flames. Rescuing people is what he does.

Rescuing people is _who_ he is. Buck’s not sure if Dr. Copeland would be okay with that, but it’s true in his blood, running through his veins to prioritize everyone except himself, to calm the pain rushing top to bottom in a confusing rush of endorphins.

As hope wears thin, every sinew of his arms straining to lift the physical burden on Saleh, a horde of people, _his_ people this time, come from behind to aid in the effort. If he wasn’t pulling so hard, yanking from the core of his being, tears might form in the oxygen-deprived air to cushion the blow. They save him together, because that’s what Buck truly needs.

He needs his found family, the ones at his bedside when accidents occur or extending a hand to help out when the situation feels dire faced alone. Each of them have a different expression, and Buck gets lost trying to pick apart Chim’s determination, Hen’s assurance and Bobby’s gentle understanding. Eddie flashes him a stoic face, stone in the face of molten lava.

“I almost gave up,” he huffs, sirens still high pitched in the distance. Everyone is safe, he knows that, especially because of his drive to save the last person in peril, but the air is thick with an almost-defeated sigh taking up space. It was too close, he never should have gotten lost or doubted that the team would be there by his side, the paranoia only in his head.

But Buck didn’t give up. He’s told Christopher never to do so, cried when his sister told him proudly that she never abandoned that wishful thinking when Doug abducted her, and stood there shocked when Eddie thanked him for keeping the momentum going with his son after the tsunami. Hen rubs circles into his shoulder, comforting him, and she smiles, knowing that since Bobby’s relapse, it’s been the three of them ready to be there for each other, a trio of electric proportions in quiet solitude. Athena comes closer, so Hen steps back to let her take a turn.

The woman has always been his real mother more than the person listed on the birth certificate, and she calls him Buck in a way that makes him feel like a student giddy over his latest report card. She knows he’d never leave a soul behind or endanger someone who could be saved. Always the investigator even when off the clock, though, Athena catches wind that there’s an even bigger moment transpiring beyond her control, the one between Buck and Bobby, a few feet away with a bond louder than words. Hen leaves to give them a break, since the whole team would likely regroup soon for an embrace (Buck definitely needed one).

Bobby slings his arm over Buck in a hug, not saying anything verbally but eyes practically screaming with _I love you, my son._ They nod at each other silently, shaken into grateful commiseration, the verbal language unnecessary because the mentor-mentee relationship was always more, was always father-son in practice and execution. Since the beginning, Bobby had a soft spot for Buck, from 1.0 to this blossoming, calmed 3.0 in the making. He’s caught wondering how many versions there will inevitably be over his life, but surrounded by his family, the one he found through fierce fire and burning love that catches at the tickle in his throat, caressing the tear ducts ever so gently, he thinks this might be the last one.

After sitting for a while with his real father, the night dwindling to a close, Buck cannot find Eddie. It’s only the day following a clean bill of health that the other man is at the station, soft as ever and with a grin tucked into the corner of his lips.

“Show off,” Eddie’s eyes are like mellow velvet, brushing over Buck’s with a personal peace that he can only hope will one day be his own to claim. It’s clear to him that Eddie has come a long way dealing with his demons, the feelings less sharp than in the past, used as a support than as a weapon. The calm is a tranquility Buck wants to know, wants to taste for himself as therapy continues his journey of self love and finally, he can begin. He has begun.

“I had to do it,” Buck reasoned, hoping his explanation landed on proper footing.

“Oh, I know you did,” he looks satisfied, fondly smug. He’s lighter than Buck has ever seen, processing his feelings in a way that’s lifted the weight from his shoulders to no longer carry alone. It’s enviable, but beautiful on him, undoing the stressed lines from years as a soldier bearing the pain in quiet, suffering silence.

As he’s caught fighting jealous fantasies for Eddie’s hushed composure, the other breaks the news that he has company. Buck crosses his fingers that Maddie’s waiting for him, but he knows it’s the two people he ran away from all those years ago, not the one he always runs to. The younger man thinks he sees Eddie look on while he moves past to the stairs, each step making the feeling in his chest heavier with sick, twisted anticipation.

He doesn’t want to face them. They don’t deserve his time of day, this he knows, but getting through the inevitable conversation might help his personal journey to an established peace of mind. Buck corrects them on his name, erasing the ‘Evan’ branded into his side from birth, moving beyond the objectification within the distanced birth name to reclaim his newest title. People who know him, who _love_ him, call the firefighter Buck. It tastes bad when his father uses the name like he has ever met the person across the table.

“I don’t even know where to start,” his mother says. _Say sorry,_ his heart begs, but his words compensate for the hurt in a way he did not expect to.

“I’m sorry...about Daniel,” Buck says, biting back the conversation Dr. Copeland would inevitably have with him about apologizing for something out of his control that he had no reason to express any regret over. His parents failed, not him. They brought a child into the world for a single purpose, then discarded him like trash when the genetic matchmaking failed miserably. He wants them to know that he sympathizes with their struggles, not the people they became as a result. Maybe if he lost Christopher that day, he’d directly empathize; thankfully, his pseudo-son was safe, all smiles despite the many dynamic events of his life.

The three of them talk, but Buck cannot stop thinking about _they seem to like you a great deal_ and _we got to hear a lot of stories about you_ , wondering why his family below would betray him with kindness towards the parents responsible for him being hurt over and over again. It’s just like Maddie, the searing pain fresh.

“You were born to save someone, and that’s what you do every day. We are so proud of you,” Margaret says, full of lies. She had no part in making him who he was in the positive sense of the word, exasperated screams against a soundtrack of _why can’t you be Daniel_ , _the reminder is staring us back in the face every day_ on repeat. His scars had no chance to heal unless he knew who his lost brother was, and now the medicine could run its course, kissing shut open wounds. It was an inconvenient truth, a reality that his parents could shed like snakeskin when they became uncomfortable.

So he forgives them, except he doesn’t really. When the two leave, Buck thinks he probably won’t see his parents for a long, long time. That thought makes him quite happy, to be honest. Last thing he’d want is the Buckleys at his wedding or Maddie’s with flowers, walking someone down the aisle as free-flowing tears bit away at any remaining resolve. Hoping that his father was being facetious, the 118 are down below, Chim sneaking off as to not set the ticking time bomb into a countdown (he’s done with bombs, he realizes). The secret put a wedge between his brother-in-law and the mother of his child, so he’s sick of the whole damn thing.

“How’d it go?” Bobby asked, staring Buck down with fatherly affection.

“They said you were ‘very kind’ to them, which honestly, guys, has me confused,” Buck cracks his knuckles. “I would’ve been okay never seeing them here, where you know, I _work_.”

“We weren’t exactly ‘nice’ to them,” Hen rolls her eyes. “They refused to wear their masks and demanded that we show them around the place. Luckily, Cap thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to tell them all about what they’ve been missing in terms of you.”

“What do you mean?” Buck was confused. He had an inkling, but would never pass up the opportunity for a little praise from his favorite people in the world.

“I said our Buck was a hero,” Bobby cut in, “We all had our stories to tell. Moments we’ve been like ‘wow, only Buck could really do that’ or ‘Buck never gave up.’ Eddie was _this_ close to snapping at them when they called you Evan.”

“Really?” he looked at everyone incredulously, a shred of doubt in his voice.

“Cap,” Eddie steeled, unaware he’d be specifically outed as a staunch Buck supporter in the face of his greatest critics. “Yeah, I went into attack dog mode a bit. What can I say? They were getting on my nerves.”

“I forgave them,” Buck admitted. He felt weak.

“What?” Eddie’s mouth fell open in mild shock.

“More for myself than their consciences. I don’t care much for how they feel now, how they want to make amends, you know? It’s way too late for that, for me to recover from all they’ve put me through. The lies, the narcissism, the gaslighting...it’s just. I know they lost a kid. If I lost mine, I don’t know what I’d do.” Buck thinks of Christopher, holding the idea close to his heart like it might flutter away for new flowers elsewhere. “It’s not a full, complete apology from them, but I made my peace. It’s time for me to process this, with or without their help.”

“Buckaroo,” Hen cooed. “We love you and we’re proud of you.”

“I know,” Buck smiled through the pain. “My therapist is getting a run for her money with me, right?”

“We all could use a visit,” Bobby reminds him, “Everyone needs to talk to someone.”

“Speaking of which,” Buck gets from his seat, “I’ll be right back.” He goes to the lockers, where Chim is waiting, fussing with his cardigan like the fabric itches. This time, there’s more to his words than what the others asked, the inquiry festering as an incessant droll in his ears.

“Did that go okay?” Chim dares, watching as the other rests his face close to the storage unit. He knows that in his heart, if his parent’s sins could be forgiven on the surface, that perhaps Buck owes it to Maddie just the same. It just...hurts. He needed her, relied on her, and she _left_. But instead of wallowing in his selfishness, Chim reminds him that the world is bigger than the footprint left by a younger, waddling Evan Buckley; that growing up was shared with a sister who cared enough for several parents, who dressed wounds and instilled hope in a kid fighting off the transparency placed upon him by devious fate.

And Buck...well, he _knows_ now. She gave him the Jeep to run, to escape, while she stayed home to suffer the consequences. In all of his reflection since the Daniel news, he brushed past the truth for a solitary narrative which never happened. Maddie was there when no one else was willing to stay, offering bandages and pinky promises to last a lifetime.

“I’m sorry, I gotta go.” he blurts out to Chim, but the other knows why, and understands the madness. If anyone could get the plight of Evan, who lost a brother and became a whisper of the past to his biological family, it was him. While Buck gained his sister back, as well as the 118 and their extended love, Chim had Albert arrive on his doorstep with juvenile antics and no strained relationship with their father. Buck is pushing past the doors when Eddie tries to come in, and they almost knock into each other.

“Woah,” the wooden frame is inches away from knocking Eddie in the forehead. The concern on his face is strikingly apparent, and the very sight makes Buck feel guilty. “You okay?” he studies the other closely, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Buck looked past him, over to Bobby. _Please, please let me go see her_.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come over later...?” Eddie follows his gaze, makes the thin outline of Chimney out in the background and figures that maybe isn’t the time.

“I gotta see Maddie first,” Buck is dying to visit his sister and make amends. He’s throbbing, pulsing, anxious from head to toe. They once went three years without talking and that recurring pain hurt too much, felt too raw. He wants to bite into grease and forget the world, but he has to fix the situation with Maddie before his rash thinking loses her in their parents' overwhelmingly poor decisions.

“Hey, man, don’t worry about it. I’ll get us a pizza and tell Chris to find a movie in advance. This way if I order the food, Chris won’t get his last-minute garlic knots and I refuse to allow you to bow to his every whim like you do,” Eddie winks, he fucking _winks_ , but it’s the most gooey, malleable shape to his charms that Buck has ever witnessed. It’s like after the pandemic, a new person walked into the room, occupied his body and finished where he started. He used to look at Eddie and see an angry current never stopping—now, he looks at Eddie and he’s in the eye of the storm, poised and refined like a shining jewel. He’s finished doing the bulk of his arduous work on the self, the end result blinding in its beauty, moving onto better things.

“Okay,” Buck nods fervently, hoping to escape from the firehouse in due time.

Bobby lets him change into his civvies and leave without another word.

It’s a miracle that Maddie forgives him. They’re caught looking at the postcards, happy beyond belief, flipping through memories Buck often forgot. Working in construction, helping out at a dude ranch, and bartending in Peru. He cannot even believe that she’s kept them all, from the mundane to the angsty and everything in between.

“This might be better than a baby box,” Maddie shrugs, and Buck flashes a smile to his sister that tugs at her heart just a little bit, getting her to reveal a little more of what she was going to elaborate on next. “See the Christmas one?”

“Uh huh,” Buck shifts, taking note of how _different_ he looks. From around two years ago, his arms are much less defined, presence still 6’2” and looming, but without the progress Buck 3.0 has really made.

“It’s what helped me leave,” she takes a deep breath, tears brimming. Buck’s face, smiling even though he had no clue what his sister was _really_ going through, even though he had no idea if she was even getting them past her husband’s control. The picture was like the Jeep but for Maddie, a sign that Doug could be in the past, Doug could be an end to a chapter rather than _her_ end. While the bastard still came back, almost killing her and his friend in the process, the postcard marked the final straw. Her bravery still astounds him to this day.

Buck doesn’t want to leave Maddie’s side, but his stomach growls wickedly, the hours moving on towards dinnertime following hours of swapping stories.

“Do you want to stay?” she smiles, white shirt only making her pregnant glow brighter.

“Promised Eddie I’d go over for pizza,” Buck gives Maddie a hug, a long one. All the talk about Daniel and families made him miss Christopher, the boy he always thinks of as his son regardless of how that ties him and Eddie together. Chim shakes his hand, sending Buck off on good terms. The Buckley siblings can do anything together, from bicycle blunders to vanquishing old demons.

Now, he needed his Diaz family, waiting with empty stomachs.

Buck knocks on the door, and it’s inviting inside. The waft of cheese and red sauce is nostalgic, Christopher coming to greet him with a thousand hugs, a million ‘Buck!’s in rapid succession because the 10-year-old is his biggest fan; he’s Christopher’s too, enthralled by the wonders the boy can bring to the world. All the remaining stress lessens from his back, neck able to move from a night spent in their company, watching action movies on the couch. Eddie keeps checking on Buck, making sure the events aren’t overwhelming him from the long day he’s had. He lets Christopher stay up longer than usual so the younger can curl into Buck’s side, sandwiched between the other two in mutual relaxation.

“We love you, Buck,” Christopher says as Buck puts him to bed, because well, the kid _insisted_ despite not being the age for that behavior much longer. He thanks positive forces for the ease Christopher’s sleepiness overcomes him in adorable ways, Eddie watching from the hallway because well, he’s thankful. When Buck gets back to the living room, his best friend hands him another beer, then bites his lip.

“How are you holding up?” Eddie asks, worried but casual.

“Fine,” he suddenly thinks his hands are the most interesting sight on the planet. “Hey, I think there’s something new for us to watch on that one case, with the girl who disappears and—”

“Buck, you know you don’t have to hide anything with me. I know you prioritize other people’s feelings, hell, I see it happen as you keep pushing every, single day, but here is like your second home. So, _how_ are you holding up?”

It’s telling how Eddie sees right through him, except never in the way his parents did. He’s seen, not ignored, a real person instead of a Daniel-shaped mirage. He can come undone.

“I’m tired,” Buck sighs, “Maddie forgave me for being angry and we talked about Daniel for a few hours. It was nice.”

“That’s good,” the other nodded, as if to say _okay, keep going, I’m listening._

“She’s been bottling up her memories for decades and I’ve been living in the shadow of mine for what feels like my entire life. The five-alarm fire was so horrible, Eds, but it kind of made me realize that I need to come to terms with who I am. I’m Buck, I’ll always be Buck, and to the people who matter, I am Buck for better or worse.”

“Let’s hope for better,” Eddie takes a sip of his drink, raising it in a tiny cheer, clinking bottles and wishful thinking. “No more burning buildings or family secrets. Please.” He looked hurt for a second, as if the thought physically pained him to imagine.

“I can’t make promises for the first part,” Buck nudges the other, wondering why the mood was now a burden of dense proportions, how just talking about his problems turned everything undeniably sour. Eddie is usually the composed one, and he is, but there’s a twinge of pain that instantly colors his face towards more upsetting territories.

“That’s the Buck way,” he just says after too many moments, seconds ticking overtime.

Just one more thing was bothering him. He had to say it before the brazen inclination left Eddie’s house, escaping through the chimneys to boldly die at his feet back in the loft apartment.

“When I was in there...you looked so serious,” Buck deflates. He doesn’t know why he says it, especially when Eddie was all action, no emotion as his ex-wife died in front of him or how his eyes only twitched as Buck blurted out that he lost Christopher. Eddie is a soldier with resolve. He doesn’t scream and cry, beating down on the ground like Buck did; he’s clinical to what used to be considered a fault, but Buck’s noticed he’s made progress in sharing feelings. Every interaction in personal turmoil seemed like he was about to burst while Eddie waited for the fallout with open hands, mind unraveling painful memories little by little, helping to lessen lesions from harsh childhood. He’s not a therapist, but Buck would be lying if he said the COVID crush terminology didn’t match someone in his life.

“I knew you were going to stay in there,” Eddie’s mouth forms a straight line. “I thought ‘well, that’s Buck for you.’ But when that explosion happened? Buck,” he averts his gaze. “I’d be lying if I said I slept well that night. All I could think of was grabbing that rope to help and then you were with Bobby afterwards. Sorry I didn’t show it on my face. I’d like to think I’m getting better at that, but it fails me—”

“No, I felt it,” Buck turns squarely to him, commanding attention, “I’m sorry. With you _and_ the rest of the team. I had to save Saleh in order to save myself, because I can’t _lose_ anyone, Eddie. So, thank you. Guess now it’s just me, Dr. Copeland and somewhat more frequent texts from my parents,” he braces for the impact of his sarcasm, which Eddie never particularly adores when the topic becomes serious. There’s a bit of silence that lingers, settling wordlessly across the couch. Unlike the bed, they’re close, not a million miles away in opposite headspaces. Clearly, another sentence is on the tip of Eddie’s tongue, and Buck wants him to get it out so they can move on. “...Eddie?”

The other man almost leaps at his name being called, shaken abruptly from the thought. Buck instinctively recoils, the soft cushion taking the blow. It makes Eddie shake, and before he knows it, Buck has tremors too, he’s wondering how natural disasters and global pandemics can shake his globe like a penny pincher listening for spare change in empty vessels. Eddie grabs Buck’s leg, bouncing from anxiety. He almost makes a noise in protest or confusion, but the other gets to the finish line first.

“Nothing about you is defective,” Eddie recovers gently, as if the sentence would break given the intonation. “Saying things isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I hope you know that you’re perfect the way you are, no matter what your parents or _anyone_ thinks.”

“Really?” Buck resists the urge to swipe at his eyes with a sweatshirt-clad arm, waiting for the waterworks. “...No one’s ever said that to me before.” It’s sincere, sweet and Buck could cry for hours just from the subtle praise. The other’s lips curl into a faint grin at the corners.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Eddie squeezes where his hand rests on Buck’s knee, and he knows that the older man is joking around but his eyes are sparkling, entrancing. Buck clears his throat, speaking once more before the words he’s tired of expressing anywhere other than with a therapist finally die a slow, painful death. Because he’s Buck, of course it’ll come up, be mentioned in passing with a self-deprecating joke here and there. But for now, he wants to launch into the next chapter.

“When you all came to get me, it was like a weight greater than whatever my parents threw at me was being lifted. ‘Made me realize I don’t have to do anything alone.”

“You always have your family to back you up,” Eddie is magnetic, wrapping Buck in his gravity despite his attempts to leave the orbit. “Here, with us. Christopher, Bobby, Athena, Maddie, Hen...Chim, if you’ll have him after all this.”

“Who would’ve thought that not living with him made the biggest rift between us,” Buck jests to lighten the mood, rain following the awful drought. His shoulder bumps Eddie’s lightly, but the other doesn’t appear to mind. “The secret was under my nose for my whole life without anyone letting me know that I was making a fool of myself. Did some stupid stuff with pictures to prove it, though _you’ll_ never see them. My hair might’ve been blonde at one point in time. I don’t know why I’m telling you this when I know you’ll do _evil_ , evil things with that knowledge.” He scoffs, and Eddie fights back a bewildered chuckle.

“Before I say anything else, wow, I would finance the Han baby’s entire college education if it meant I could see those. Everyone does things they regret, Buck. And you weren’t a fool,” Eddie reclines on the couch, reaching for his beer with a slight smile. “At least it’s no secret that everyone loves you.”

“Really?” Buck’s eyes narrow, somewhat in disbelief. _Everyone...meaning you, too?_

“Yeah,” Eddie coughs. “Another thing. I’m sorry for calling you Evan that one time.”

Cycling through the past few months in his head, Buck can only remember Eddie doing so when he was drunk off his mind, confessing across the bed, entangled legs with sheets.

“You remember that?” Buck blushes, he fucking _blushes_ , it’s impossible not to.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie gasps, smacking his forehead with the ferocity of someone who’s been explicitly found out through his own verbal demise. “Did you...not want me to? We can pretend like it never happened.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Buck’s hands are clammy, his throat is dry, his heart is aching longingly to go for what it’s wanted for all this time. “Eds, now that I can be myself, uh. I’d like to be myself, with you. If that’s what you want.”

“You’re cute,” Eddie leans over, ghosting his lips but not moving any closer. “I literally told you I love you _in your bed_.”

“Actually, you said you liked me,” Buck rolls his eyes, because hey, he’s a tease. “But you’re pretty cute, so I’ll let you pass.”

“Me? Pass?” Eddie’s face is right on his, trapped between a dare and the routine they’ve done before, the dance from kitchen counters and the backseat of ambulances. Buck wants to make another quip, be a little more bratty than he’s used to, but Eddie shuts him up with his lips, the sentences saved for another time, another match of words and tongues.

“I don’t want to watch the documentary,” Buck says when he catches his breath, the sweet embrace of their lips already being missed, savored. “Honestly, all I wanna do is kiss you.”

“Just promise me you’re okay and that we’re not moving too fast,” Eddie cups his cheek, warmth spreading through the soft, enveloping touch. “You’re important to me, Buck.”

“This is the best I’ve felt in weeks,” Buck admits, several pounds lighter in theory.

Part of him wants to pinky-promise, swear and cross his heart, but he doesn’t need to. The only thing Buck and Eddie are running from now were their feelings, drunkenly revealed or otherwise.

“Then come here,” he motions, bringing Buck closer, his head resting so the younger man can sense Eddie’s chest rising and lowering, their story continuing to unfold.

Buck closes his eyes, listening. It’s like he’s gained wings. Eddie presses a kiss to Buck’s head, and they interlace fingers, the other pulling one hand to his mouth to plant a reassuring peck on the skin.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep then, but he does.

People have stopped walking on eggshells with Buck. He’s back into the rhythms, getting used to the new normal (the real one this time) when everyone acts _weird_ again. Eddie and him are dating even though Ana keeps calling, so it shouldn’t be strange when the former calls after getting off a shift.

“Come over,” Eddie sounds like he’s up to...something. Buck’s detective skills haven’t been sharp since the biggest mystery of his life landed right in his lap without many clues or telling evidence.

“Okay,” Buck throws on some clothes, wondering why a secretive slant to his boyfriend’s voice makes him slightly on edge. He should be okay with surprises, if it is one. But maybe he isn’t, yet (he hasn’t decided and he goes back and forth on the drive there whether the thought makes him uncomfortable).

Christopher answers the door before Buck can put his key in, and he’s wearing a detective outfit riffing off of Sherlock and other British greats of the craft.

He is the single cutest person on the planet.

“What’s this for?” Buck asks.

“Clue,” he beams, all braces and boyish glow. “Wait till you see who Dad is.”

Curious, Buck peeks into the kitchen as he enters, where Eddie is on the phone talking quietly. He’s dressed like...Mr. Green, the Clue character? His hair looks arguably more tousled, a shadow of a beard still present along his jaw to emulate the emerald character. Caught green-handed, Eddie freezes, then whispers something before hanging up.

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” he is wearing a jacket that Buck has only seen once or twice, but the collar is popped in exaggerated fashion. Buck, of course, is severely underdressed for the sleuthing occasion, only in a lavender hoodie that he _guesses_ makes him whatever purple character exists. Eddie sighs, continuing his best attempt at sworn secrecy. “Chris said I looked like one of the later versions of Mr. Green when he went on Google, so.” the older man coughs, arguably flushed to a point where he might as well be cast as Miss Scarlett. Buck has seen many wonderful sights living with Eddie before, but he’s never witnessed a debacle like this. If he wouldn’t have it slapped out of his hand, he’d take a picture, the random costume reminding him of Halloween and father-son concepts going together in classy fashion with Christopher.

“Who were you talking to?” Buck laughs awkwardly, noting the distance the other is placing between them. “Thought we were just going to hang out again tonight.”

“Uh...” Eddie leans on the counter. “Shit. Okay, the jig is up. Follow me.” Pushing off the furniture, he guides Buck to the dining room table, where a Clue board game is set up with a waiting computer screen...filled with all of the 118 on Zoom? He can’t believe his eyes. Everyone is waving, yelling various ‘surprises’ from the Grant, Wilson, Han and Buckley households. It’s the most people he’s seen when _not_ on a call in the past couple of months.

“What is this?” Buck shakes his head, as his sister takes the conversational reins.

“Knew you were on a true crime binge, and could use a game night to destress after all of this. We can’t all be together in one room, so this is the closest we can get, if that works.”

“Yeah, especially now that you solved your biggest mystery,” Chim cuts in, much to Maddie’s chagrin. “Thought we’d go for a classic so the kids could join, too.”

“Does that work, Buckaroo?” Athena asked, bidding hello with Harry and Bobby.

“Wow,” Buck keeps switching from the screen to Eddie, who looks delightfully ridiculous, and to Chris, who’s seated at the table as it’s an esteemed meeting for the president. “Who’s idea was this?”

“Who do you think?” Eddie scruffs up Christophers’ hair, shaking his head. Eddie, who hates technology, set up a group night for them all. Christopher, who adores the two men who’ve come to be his fathers, is triumphant in his own costume.

“Yay! Let’s play,” he cheers, but not before giving a chorus of hellos to his friends from around the same age, always the extrovert and never the pessimist despite any situation. The kid is pure joy, and Buck loves him. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a mastermind of affection.

“Did you know,” Buck pulls out a chair, only knowing enough about Clue to skate past the beginnings of the game before veering off into fun fact territory, “Mr. Green is called Reverend Green in the original, but the Parker Brothers didn’t want Americans to draw the conclusion that a religious leader could be a murderer.”

For some reason, Eddie loves Buck’s knowledge of the mundane and serious, never raises a qualm to pick at his language or shut him down for speaking. His face lights up like a bulb going off in the dark, smile stretched across perfectly pleasing lips.

“We can see you two,” Chim groans from the computer screen, but he feels like he’s living with them again, and the glee is shared throughout the rooms. Maddie knocks his shoulder playfully, her plastic monocle falling off.

They are a makeshift group from all walks of life, paths behind them split down the middle yet somehow always meeting back together. Misfits with bright smiles, joined together by firehouses and medical emergencies. Buck could not be happier if he tried. He’s renewed again, emerging from the chrysalis of childhood afflictions to properly gain new insight with company at his side. He went from walking through fire every day to finally get there with his found family, but he doesn’t have to anymore, or rarely feels the pressure to do so. He would gladly walk through fire for them, though, because the people around him deserve that camaraderie. They’d be by his side no matter how many times he crashed and burned, infrastructure up in flames.

So he’ll be there for them, flammable and imperfect.

Buck burns brighter with those he loves.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to find me or yell at me, I'm puerkim on Twitter or dalsegnos on Tumblr. Let's suffer together while we wait for the clown cars.


End file.
